


waiting for a hint of a spark

by Anonymous



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-30
Updated: 2019-05-30
Packaged: 2020-03-29 22:17:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19029040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: "If Patrice listens, he can hears crickets and whippoorwills. They’re sprawled in the back of a hotwired SUV, blankets tucked around them to try to keep Brad warm even as he shivers. When Patrice closes his eyes, he can pretend for a moment that they’re in another world."





	waiting for a hint of a spark

**Author's Note:**

  * For [blindbatalex](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blindbatalex/gifts).



> Please check for content warnings in the end notes if you are worried about heavy themes, but be warned that it’s kind of a spoiler.
> 
> I know I dedicate almost all my fics to Alex, so it really isn’t a surprise anymore, but this one especially. For a) giving me this gem of advice, “angst is a skill that’s perfected through practice” b) literally just being my one man cheering squad when I’ve needed it, which has been a lot lately. He deserves good angst to be written for him, and I hope this delivers. 
> 
> Title from Death Cab for Cutie’s classic, “I Will Follow You Into the Dark,” which, despite being a stunning love song, was the direct inspiration for this fic.

Brad’s lips are a breathtakingly red contrast against his pale skin when he leans into Bergy, asks, “Do you think heaven exists?”

 

A year ago, Patrice would’ve said yes. A year ago, Patrice hadn’t ripped apart a zombie with his bare hands and shot a hundred between the eyes. Perspective.

 

But he pulls Brad into him, tries to warm Brad’s cold skin, “I don’t know.”

 

“Do you think if there is, do you think they’d take us in?” Brad asks, voice heavy with months of living in a nightmare.

 

Patrice knows any heaven that wouldn’t take Brad wasn’t really qualified to be a paradise at all.Brad was still so fucking optimistic even after months spent in ruin. He liked to tell jokes when he could, was great at making easy friends when they ran into other people on the road. They’d traveled thousands of miles by now, and Brad still lost his breath at a beautiful sunset. 

 

“I don’t know babe, I hope so.”

 

Brad seems contented at that, shifting his head into Patrice’s neck. Patrice moves to tuck a piece of Brad’s hair back from his forehead, feels the skin that is chilled over but damp with sweat. What had started out as a small cough a few days ago had blossomed into the shaking illness Brad was dealing with now. Patrice knew realistically that they needed to keep moving, shouldn’t even be resting at all tonight, but Brad was weaker now than Patrice had ever seen him.

 

“Bergy, can you tell me a story?” 

 

Patrice used to hate when Brad asked this. The first time, only a couple weeks after they’d met each other on the road, Patrice had said a flat no until Brad had begged him for over an hour. He hated to talk about what life had been like before and didn’t have anything to say about the fucked up world they live in now. Eventually though, he realized it didn’t matter what he said. It wasn’t the content Brad wanted, but the comfort. And Patrice could provide that.

 

“Once upon a time, there was a hockey team called the Bruins. And they had the best first line in the NHL. They had a center who loved his team more than anything else in the entire world. And a young guy on the right wing who was way more talented than he had any business being.”

 

This was one of Brad’s favorite stories. Patrice had found out Brad liked hockey when they’d raided an emptied out CVS for supplies, and Brad had grabbed a couple of sports magazines to read. Patrice worked all the friends they’d met for short periods on their travels into it, filling a team with friendly faces and ever increasing anecdotes.

 

Patrice continues, “But the most important person was the left wing. He was kind of small, but he went into hits easy as anyone. He had records on the team for being relentless and scrappy, scoring tons of overtime goals and when the team was short handed.”

 

Patrice sees Brad smile at that, even though he’s heard that part of the story a million times before. He slips a hand into Brad’s hair to touch his head gently.

 

“And all the players on the other teams hated him because he talked shit better than anyone in the whole league. Couldn’t go twenty seconds on the ice without chirping someone. But everyone on his team loved him best of all.”

 

Brad looks up at him, dopey, “Especially the center?”

 

“Yeah, ‘specially him. Because before he’d met him, he hadn’t had anyone with him. On the ice. And then he wasn’t lonely anymore. Had someone to talk to and to love,” and Patrice knows he’s slipping out of the story, doesn’t quite have the energy to keep the truth in.

 

If Patrice listens, he can hears crickets and whippoorwills. They’re sprawled in the back of a hotwired SUV, blankets tucked around them to try to keep Brad warm even as he shivers. When Patrice closes his eyes, he can pretend for a moment that they’re in another world. One where he really did meet Brad playing next to him on the ice. Or maybe they could have met at a bar, Brad slipping Patrice his number with a grin. Maybe a blind date, maybe at the gym, maybe they could have bumped into each other at the Farmer’s market.

 

In that world, Patrice imagines he would have taken things slow at first. He would have asked Brad out and taken him somewhere really nice for their first date. Opened his car door and paid the bill and treated him like he was something meant to be cherished. They’d move in together, quicker than their parents would approve of, but it’d be silly for Patrice to keep paying rent at his apartment when he spent all his nights at Brad’s anyways. Brad probably kept a better apartment than Patrice ever had, would probably roll his eyes at Patrice’s inherent messiness, but would pull him in for a kiss just the same.

 

It’s Brad’s breaths getting shallower that take him out of his daydream, reminding him that he might not have everything he wants, but right now he has this, has Brad in his arms. And he only has so many moments of that left, shouldn’t waste it.

 

“Patrice, I don’t want to be alone,” Brad says, breath catching between the words.

 

“I know babe, I know. I promise I’m here with you. Whatever comes, we’ll figure it out. Together.”

 

“But-“ Brad protests.

 

“You need to sleep, love. I promise I’ll be with you. Never let you be alone.”

 

Brad’s eyes look watery, but he nods, curls himself further into Patrice’s arms. Brad does lose consciousness quickly, but Bergy stays up. He wants to memorize Brad just like this. The way he fits in his arms, the scar over his eyebrow that Patrice had stitched up himself, his laugh lines and every stretch and freckle on his skin. 

 

Even pressed against him, Patrice can barely feel Brad’s breath. It’s faint, and Patrice knows it won’t be long before it fades completely. He thinks back to Brad’s questions. If there is a heaven, they’re probably over capacity by now. Patrice has seen so many good people die since this whole mess began, he can’t imagine there’s room left. 

 

When he’d first met Brad on the road, over a month into this hell, and they’d made their deal to stick together, they’d both made it clear that they would put their own lives first if it came down to it. If Patrice was following that rule, he would have taken off hours ago, would have made sure the car could keep going before pulling off into these woods, would have made sure there was more than one bullet left in his gun. 

 

He’d promised Brad that he wouldn’t be alone, though. And he intended to keep that promise. Whether heaven was real or fake or all full up, Brad wouldn’t have to navigate it alone.

 

Patrice reaches down and grabs Brad’s cold hand in his, pressing a kiss to his temple. It feels like absolution, and he lets his eyes focus on the moon for just a little while longer.

**Author's Note:**

> Content warning for implied major character death and implied intended suicide. 
> 
> I know I said a big thank you to Alex at the beginning, but also a big thank you to tumblr users torald and kureally who have also been crazy supportive. 
> 
> Please leave a comment if you liked it.


End file.
